


Hell Lurking in Woman's Form

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: Undead Chosen One [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bombing, Ends in Middle of Story, F/M, Gen, Mandalore Plot AU, Opposite of fluff, Part One of Three Part Arc, Passive-aggression, Terrorism, Unnamed Side Character Sucide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 04:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Mace Windu wants to save Obi-Wan from the hopelessness his fellow Jedi seems trapped in. Obi-Wan certainly doesn't see it that way.If anything, hope seems farther away now than ever.





	Hell Lurking in Woman's Form

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be another 3-part story arc.

 

Four hours after falling asleep beside Anakin, Obi-Wan awoke to the chime of his comlink.

He found a statue dead on the floor.

Stepping over his friend, Obi-Wan pulled himself together.

He answered the summons to the Council chamber, half ready for a fight.

They didn't give him one.

They gave him something worse.

“Mandalore?” he asked, his heart sinking.

“You know the people and the culture better than anyone in the Order. And even better: the Duchess trusts you.”

_ Ha. _

“You want to send me on a solitary mission,” was what Obi-Wan said aloud. “Even though we just proved that disaster comes when I do.”

Mace narrowed his eyes. “It was one time. And we don't expect anything too terrible on Mandalore.”

_ Not all horrors are violent. _

One, in particular, had eyes like ice and a tongue like poison.

Maybe someone could make him deaf before he went. That would make the trip easier.

“Shouldn't I stay with Anakin? He's been through a severe trauma—”

“Skywalker has others who can help support him,” Mace interrupted. “You are not necessary to his health.”

Now  _ that  _ was a slap in the face.

“You'll be back by this evening, most likely. The sooner you sort things out, the sooner you return.”

Obi-Wan's face settled into a stubborn look. “And if I refuse?”

“If you're no longer on the Council, you no longer have that authority,” Mace observed, disgustingly smug, “or did I miss something?”

_ Frip you. _

It resulted in Obi-Wan spending the hyperspace journey in his fighter cursing himself and wondering why the universe conspired so.

The rumors were serious. If Mandalore awoke, joined the Separatists—

It had been nearly nineteen years since Mandalorians had last hunted down Jedi to torture and murder them for sport. Not anywhere near long enough to be safe. Satine herself understood the always-present danger.

The thought of  _ her  _ joining the Separatists was patently ridiculous,  _ but... _

Obi-Wan had in his possession a recording that suggested she might not have full control over the actions of her people.

_ I don't need to be out here chasing down rumors. Ahsoka refuses to look at Anakin, she won't look me in the eye, she and the clones flatly refuse to elaborate on what they found at that facility, and Anakin only remembers flashes. _

Tiny glimpses that terrified the vampire.

Obi-Wan didn't need memories to be worried about just  _ what  _ had happened in the time he'd been unaware.

_ Oh, Anakin. What did you do? _

Obi-Wan disconnected from the hyperspace ring, and he brought his fighter in close, directed over comm to land at pad number—

A chill settled over him as he recognized the area. The landing zone where he'd shed bitter tears less than two weeks prior.

Let it never be said that Satine Kryze didn't understand the subtitles of passive aggression.

Then again, Obi-Wan Kenobi knew a thing or two about the same form of warfare.

Let the games begin.

 

* * *  
  


She kept him waiting.

After having sent a guard to  _ hurry him up _ , now he stood in the high-ceilinged throne room and  _ waited. _

After a time, a servant breezed in with a duster, saw him, nearly panicked, and bolted. Scant minutes later, Almec arrived, trying to appear collected. “General Kenobi.”

Tired already, Obi-Wan stepped forward and extended a hand. “Thank you for meeting with me, Prime Minister. I'm here on an unfortunate matter.”

“Yes. The rumors. I'm troubled by them— they are false. Mandalore would never turn against the Republic.”

Obi-Wan refrained from arching an eyebrow. Almec needn't sound so righteous about it. Mandalore certainly wasn't Alderaan— for  _ most  _ of its history it  _ hadn't  _ been with the Republic. Very far from it.

“The Duchess Satine values peace more than her own life,” Almec concluded.

“Oh, I'm aware of the Duchess' views—”

Almec interrupted his mild understatement. “Master Kenobi, Mandalore's violent past is behind us. All of our warriors were exiled to our moon, Concordia. They died out years ago.”

_ Oh, for Force's sake. _

Nineteen years was  _ not  _ enough time for them to  _ die out.  _ The Prime Minister must be in the dark as to Obi-Wan's own involvement in those events.

“Are you certain?” Obi-Wan countered, just to needle the man. “I recently encountered a man wearing Mandalorian armor. Jango Fett.”

 _That_ sparked anger in the man's eyes. Paydirt. “Jango Fett was a common bounty hunter. How he acquired that armor is beyond me.”

_ Yes. Stew on that. How a clanless individual stole your heritage to make it his signature. _

Obi-Wan was settling in to make this man's life  _ miserable  _ when a voice like crystal bells cut through his focus. A chime signaling the approach of a torturer.

“Master Kenobi. My shining Jedi knight to the rescue once again.” From her expression and tone, one would never guess the depth of venom lying beneath.  
Obi-Wan moved past Almec, approaching the throne as she settled herself on it, and answered in kind. “That dress is a beautiful replacement for the one destroyed, and you wear it well.”

“Kind words from a man who accuses me of treachery.” Now, just a hint of knife.

“I would  _ never _ accuse you of personal wrongdoing, Duchess,” Obi-Wan returned, innocent, looking her full in the eyes.  _ Yes. Remember. _ It's the  _ only  _ thing  _ she'd  _ been accusing  _ him  _ of since the war began.  _ But  _ I  _ wouldn't.  _ “However, a Separatist saboteur attacked one of our Republic cruisers. A Mandalorian saboteur.”

He didn't waste her time with Jango Fett.

Satine already knew he knew the man wasn't Mando.

Obi-Wan held out his holodisc and allowed his cordial affect to melt away into a silent, military sternness.

She would notice.

Her fingernails dug tracks in the arms of her throne.

“You must be mistaken,” Almec announced, with absolute certainty. “No Mandalorian would engage in such violence. Not anymore.”

_ Yes. I suppose you have  _ no  _ criminals whatsoever. Do share your secret with the rest of us. _

Almec stepped closer into Obi-Wan's space. “Where is this prisoner now?”

“He took his own life rather than submit to questioning,” Obi-Wan returned, turning away from him to focus on Satine. She wanted their friendship over? Let her see how he treated politicians  _ not  _ his friends. “I know these commandos fought in many wars. Often against the Jedi.”

Satine leaned forward on her throne, eyes blazing.

She'd taken the bait.

“Every one of my people is as trustworthy as I am,” she hissed.

And  _ there  _ she'd made her false step. He'd attacked the clans; her nature couldn't help but fight for the “honor” of those who would forever be first in her mind before all others.

_ It's a sweet gesture, Duchess, but you know what you just said isn't true. _

Now to weave the trap.

Satine was far too hot-tempered. It jeopardized her otherwise impressive verbal sparring skills.

Her fellow officials saw it.

“I know we sound  _ defensive— _ ” Senator Merrik intervened, trying to undo the damage his Duchess had done. If the Jedi chose to take her statement and run...

The implications could tie them to any anti-Republic activity that could be occurring.

Satine was too angry to let him continue. She cut him off without even a glance his way, starling both Senator and Prime Minister.

Not Obi-Wan.

_ You're still in there, Darling. Hiding amidst the flounces and glitter. Come out, come out, Mando. Fight me. _

“Clearly, your investigation was ordered because the Senate is eager to intervene in our affairs.” Her fist was clenched now.

_ You want to strike me. _

That was alright. He had something that would hit like a physical blow between her eyes. “My investigation was ordered by the Jedi Council.”

The anger vanished, she drew back, her expression sobered.

For a moment there was silence as he waited for her to make her next move.

Her only wise play would be the humble card. Given how many Jedi had been hunted for sport in the past, how many had been torn apart and murdered, the Jedi had every right to be concerned about the return of a militant Mandalore.

To respond in aggression now would be to utterly lose any ground she still retained.

Her officials held their breaths, hoped  _ desperately  _ for her to make the right play—

“I stand corrected.” There was something profoundly unhappy in her eyes as she looked at him again.

_ And if you care even the slightest about my people anymore, unhappy you  _ should  _ be. _

He'd just said they were worried her country was going to restart a holocaust.

“General Kenobi.” Her chin was up, and her expression stern. “Perhaps you would like to join me on a walk through the city.”

And  _ there  _ she reasserted herself, because this was  _ not  _ a request.

It was a command, and everyone felt it.

She may have been forced to give him ground, but with this, she'd subtly shoved his out of reach of his feet.

Just as unhappy as he  _ knew  _ her to be, he stepped up the dais and held out his hand.

Absolutely formal, courtesy fit for a royal party—  _ he  _ knew how to play this role.

She placed her hand in his, just as coldly regal, followed him down the stairs, placed her fingers on his arm when he offered it.

And in silence they walked out.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was acutely aware of Satine's guard following a short distance behind, of the holocams of paparazzi.

As far as  _ they  _ would know, this was the first time General Kenobi had visited Mandalore.

It felt... strange to know that he could have...

Could have been leaving these palace doors as the Consort of their Duchess.

The thought hurt as he kept his expression distant.

_ Are you thinking the same? _

She was standing right here, hand on his arm, wide skirt brushing his ankle, and he  _ missed her. _ She couldn't be farther away from him than she was right this second.

Satine knew how to escape the gossip seekers, and soon they reached a place where the lack of standing room forced them to try to take grainy images from very great distances, desperate for something lucky.

Once safe, Obi-Wan pulled his arm away.

For several moments they walked in silence.

_ You demanded this little jaunt, you have to start the next round. _

“It...  _ is  _ good to see you've healed. The scars become you.”

That amused him, in spite of himself, and his face betrayed it. “Not many think the same.” Time to return a compliment. “I didn't see much of the city on my last visit. Mandalore has prospered under your reign. Your peaceful ways have paid off.”

There may have been too much sincerity in that last statement. He'd meant to keep it detached and formal.

Some of Satine's hackles soothed, and in the corner of his eye she seemed to transform from something that wanted to rip his throat out into... something a little more benign. “Not everyone on Mandalore believes our commitment to peace is progress.”

The admission startled him.

_ She's acting as if she wants to mend— no. That can't be right. She's just fighting for Mandalore. Put the prey at ease, sing a lullaby to the Jedi. _

“There is a group that calls itself the Death Watch.”  
_ Calls itself. Not the original Death Watch, then, but a remake. _

She gave a nod. “I imagine these are the renegades you are looking for. They idolize the warrior ways of the past. There are those among us, certain officials, who are working to root out these criminals. It has been an ongoing investigation.”

_ There we are. _

He'd found it impossible to believe that Satine wouldn't know what was going on within her realm. Finally he'd reached honesty. No wonder she'd wanted to leave the Prime Minister behind.

_ My dear sir, you've been caught in your falsehood. _

If he had need of it, he could always pull out the  _ obstructing  _ an investigation and lying to an official peacekeeper...

But not now. Not as long as honesty remained.

“How widespread is this Death Watch movement?”

“It's  _ hardly  _ a movement.” A veiled flash in the eyes, a subtle hint of the temper that could return at any moment. “It's a small group of hooligans who choose to vandalize public places. Nothing more. We shall soon have them in custody. We've tracked them down to our moon, Concordia.”  
_ Ah. Where they died out years ago. _

“I hope you're right, Duchess.” The words had been formed to be a formal threat, but his eyes and voice betrayed him. Revealed his hand to her.

Admitted that somewhere, deep inside, he wanted to reassure her that the surprise was not in the fact that Mandalorians were rebelling...

But that she'd held them mesmerized for so long.

She relaxed still further.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, struggling with himself.

He wasn't  _ ready  _ for this. For a mutual laying aside of weapons. He'd braced himself against a life  _ without  _ her, but she was giving him  _ mixed signals. _ She'd given him every Mandalorian symbol of severance  _ imaginable,  _ in no uncertain terms signifying they were  _ done,  _ permanently.

She wasn't inviting him into her mind, but the  _ stay back or I kill  _ signals had gone away.

He wasn't sure he was ready to accept the ceasefire, just yet. He wasn't sure how much more of the vicious abuse he could take. Satine knew how to  _ destroy  _ him.

He caught himself staring at the scar through his wrist left by the stake.

He wasn't sure  _ which  _ he would rather go through again, if he were force to pick between the two options.

“It feels good to see you in the role of investigator again. Peacekeeping suits you.”

_ Here we go. _

This time, he was  _ not  _ going to lash out in pain.  _ I'm going to discuss this with her like we're actually adults.  _ “I've never stopped being a peacekeeper,” he said, voice quiet.

“How can you possibly say that?” She didn't raise her tone.

_ She's inviting me to explain myself. _

“A peacekeeper belongs on the front lines of conflict. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to do his job.”

There was a little laugh in her voice as she returned, “The work of a peacekeeper is to make sure that conflict does not arise.”

He ignored the implied mockery of that laugh, determined to  _ not  _ be the one who turned this discussion into another fight. “Yes. A noble description. But not a realistic one.”

“Is reality what makes a Jedi abandon his ideals,” Satine began, honeyed danger in her voice, “or is it simply a response to political convenience?”

That  _ hurt.  _ Desperately.

_ Do you think so poorly of me as  _ that _? _

The answer was worse.  _ Yes. Yes, you do. _

He couldn't possibly have agonized over this decision, searched wisdom and soul and history and the Force for the right path, he couldn't have followed his conscience— oh, no.

He'd  _ abandoned his ideals, _ apparently for  _ political convenience. _

He was beginning to think this conversation might have to be categorized as a fight after all.

_ I was wrong. She didn't want to hear why I chose the way I did. _

_She wants to badger me into changing my mind._

The barbs of her arrow were going to cut for a good long while, and worse when he went to try to extract it. Damn those hooked darts she loved to sink into vulnerable places when he so much as tried to reach out to her.

_ When will you learn, Kenobi? _

He held his silence, desperately searching for an answer that wouldn't further inflame the situation. He  _ desperately  _ wanted her to understand, to  _ hear  _ him, but to protest all the reasons why he couldn't just stand back while people  _ died,  _ while the Separatist army set fire to villages that didn't resist them—

How he couldn't watch men who according to the Senate have no rights march out to die in battle  _ without  _ throwing himself between harms' way and the voiceless millions.

_ As long as they are slaves, I  _ must  _ stand with them. I will endure what they endure, go where they are forced to go, eat what they are given, sleep on the same ground, face the same horrors, I  _ will not leave them  _ until they are free. _

_I am a Jedi, Satine._

_I can do no less._

He couldn't win the clones their freedom. That was in the hands of Padmé Amidala, Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, Onaconda Far, Riyo Chuchi, and all the others who genuinely  _ cared,  _ and who had made the political arena  _ their  _ battlefield. It was up to the politicians to bring the issue up again and again until it was settled  _ well,  _ and up to the populations to rise up and  _ demand  _ justice.

All Obi-Wan could do was try to make sure as many clones as possible were alive to appreciate freedom once their friends in the Senate had procured it.

Why couldn't Satine respect his heart, even if she couldn't understand his decision?

He had not yet discovered what to  _ say  _ next when he felt a  _ very  _ familiar sensation in the Force.

Fear slammed through him as he stepped into Satine's path, shielding her with his body as the bomb went off.

She stared up into his face, and the world stretched long and thin in the space of a a heartbeat.

He could see the beast behind her eyes wanting to be let  _ out,  _ this was a  _ bomb,  _ it was her stomping grounds—

He could see the horror she felt at that response, the desperate attempt to shove away her immediate urge to lay hands on the bomber and snap their neck.

And she...

She could see the haunting of too many explosions. How many friends he'd lost to them, the pain of fire and metal sunk deep into his flesh, punching even through the armor he wore—

She could see that he would never escape the scarring in his mind left from such combat.

She recovered faster than he did.

He sprang after her as she immediately began triage. While she assessed wounds, Obi-Wan looked to one of her guards, who was calling for both medical and police assistance.

Hoping against hope that Satine wouldn't remember the vulnerability he'd revealed, hoping he could  _ find  _ the one responsible for the screaming, terrified citizens sprawled on the ground— 

He reached out with the Force, could sense no one on the brink of death. A few expressed pain, but nothing major.

_ Thank the Force. _

“Hooligans couldn't have arranged an attack on this scale,” he pointed out.

Satine sent him a glare. “Then this must be the work of an offworlder.”

Obi-Wan surveyed the shattered remains of the memorial shrine, the one that stood for  _ all  _ of Mandalore's dead from any clan. To launch an attack upon it insulted  _ every clan,  _ including the bomber's own.

It wasn't a monument to a single side of the most recent civil war, it was sacred no matter _which_ side they'd taken.

He could understand Satine's resistance to the thought of  _ any  _ Mandalorian desecrating the shrine of their dead.

A holo appeared, and Obi-Wan's heart sank. “Are you sure of that?”

Satine turned to see the orange symbol.

He felt her dismay, her  _ fury— _

But worst of all—

Her  _ grief. _

“The sign of the Death Watch.”

_ Mandos willing to betray their own ideals. _ Obi-Wan wasn't even sure what to  _ do  _ with that. The Force twisted uncomfortably, a warning he'd have to be deaf to not hear. “This goes far beyond vandalism. This is a political statement against your government, and against you. You're not safe here. I'm taking you back to the palace.”

The instant he said it, he realized his mistake.

She chose not to assert her independence in this moment, her Mando mind  _ knowing  _ she was a liability here if she was unwilling to fight.

She took his outstretched hand and stood.

_ Why  _ did his heart have to thrill at her emotional maturity? He could name scores of women off the top of his head who would have insisted on staying, whether it made tactical sense or not, simply because he'd not  _ requested,  _ and simply  _ spoke  _ his determination?

_ Force  _ he loved her. For all the cruelty she inflicted, for all the pain he endured over having lost her high esteem, he still admired  _ her. _

He tore his gaze away from her eyes to scan the gathering crowd. “I want to interview everyone here,” Obi-Wan called out. Looking to Satine's guards he added, “Nobody leaves.”

He received a nod.

And somebody bolted.

Obi-Wan's feet were in motion almost before his brain realized what was happening.

 

* * *

 

Satine watched Obi-Wan respond like a predator.

_ You have been too long under the influence of combat. _

The man certainly didn't have much of a head start, Obi-Wan had his saber, and the runner wasn't wearing armor.

She left orders for her guards to stay put and saw the medical teams arriving before she sprinted after the traitor she loved so terribly much.

It was popularly  _ assumed  _ a Mandalorian and a Jedi would have problems.

_ We're not having the problems everyone would expect. _

But perhaps the relationship had been doomed from the beginning. They were too different, even if their traditional roles had been reversed.

_ My pacifism should have brought me closer to him, not pushed us apart. _

As she flew down the stairs, she saw the Mandalorian disarmed but not yet captured.

“I don't want to hurt you.” Obi-Wan caught sight of Satine, and his soothing demeanor changed to one of pure worry. “Stay back!”

_ Afraid for me. Afraid that if he pulls a hold out blaster, I won't move fast enough to escape the bolt. _

It both proved he still cared, despite his words the day he limped out of her chambers, blood dripping from unhealed wounds—

But it was also insulting.  _ Very  _ insulting.

Their prey leaped onto the railing, yelling, “Cal'halva bru'chun, dral'shy'daran!”

And then he threw himself over the edge.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan felt sick.  _ I shouldn't have focused on Satine. If I'd not been distracted, I could have caught him. _

The man wasn't dead, Obi-Wan could feel his life dripping into the crushed glass beneath him.

So  _ many  _ emotions seethed through Satine's heart.

Foremost, an image.

This man had been willing to kill himself for his cause.

The hell that flooded her mind threatened to bring Obi-Wan to his knees, it was so  _ clear,  _ so  _ precise— _

And her calculations made all the sense in the universe. Yes. Mandalore could definitely look like that, in a matter of days... weeks... months.

And it might continue to look like that for years.

He wanted to reach out to her, promise her he would  _ prevent  _ it—

But she didn't even look at him. She was already on a mission.

He followed her, wishing he didn't feel so...  _ helpless...  _ when in her presence.

As if he hadn't learned anything in the years since he'd been eighteen.

Once on the same level with the dying one, he hung back, knowing his presence would not bring this man peace in death.

Satine knelt by him, and Obi-Wan sensed intense  _ anger _ , betrayal, grim resignation that this was a path they were going to have to travel.

“Sesoru, se'tar'asu kot—”

The words  _ felt  _ like Mando'a, but Obi-Wan could make no sense of them except for  _ kot. _ It meant strength. If made plural it meant glory. “What is he saying?”  
“Karde, se'normi'im?”

Satine leaned low to murmur in his ear, compassion and solidarity in her voice as she whispered, “K'karde, normi'im.”

_ K'  _ signified an imperative. A command.

For a moment all Obi-Wan could see was this beautiful soul, who fought so  _ hard,  _ sacrificed  _ so much  _ for a new future, for a  _ better  _ one, brought face to face with a man trying  _ just  _ as hard to tear it all apart and condemn them to the prejudices and violence of the past...

And yet she soothed his passing.

Spoke to him in a language she refused to let herself even  _ think  _ in these days.

_ Oh, Satine. _

This was the woman he would never stop loving, no matter what she did to him.

She didn't care who saw, what they thought— she didn't care this man may very well have restarted the endless cycle of misery and repression—

He was a man in pain and dying.

She gave him peace.

He didn't die alone.

Obi-Wan sensed the terrorist's surprise, sensed him grabbing hold of her words...

Felt him fall from life. It felt like the flick of fingers against Obi-Wan's forehead. A light assault. But after having it repeated hour after hour, day after day, it became a torture device in its own right. Excruciating.

Satine rose, turned to face Obi-Wan as if she  _ hadn't  _ just displayed the greatest proof of character he'd ever seen in his life.

_ When faced with my greatest enemies, may I respond with as much grace and compassion as you. _

“He was speaking in the dialect they use on Concordia,” Satine explained. “While related to Mando'a with a similar phonemic structure and alphabet, the two almost never overlap.”

“I should like to visit this moon of yours,” he said, quiet, grave. “Perhaps I could accompany the body.”

“The Concordian moon is its own province with its own governor. You'll need me to escort you.”

“That won't be necessary.”

“Actually it  _ will. _ ” Her expression told him she would  _ definitely  _ be overriding his judgment on  _ this  _ one. “You won't make much progress without me there. Especially now that you've been involved with the death of a Concordian.”

There was something hidden in her tone, something that had Obi-Wan drawing his shoulders up and rearing back, protesting, “I didn't kill him.”

“I know.” She transfixed him with a  _ look _ . “That's why I'm still talking to you.”

She turned her back on him and walked away.

Stunned, he stared after her.

_ I did nothing wrong, yet she still makes me feel small. _

He rubbed his aching head, hoping no more death flicks would assail him this day. He felt so battered, stretched so thin.

Satine seemed to think he  _ enjoyed  _ the killing. The fear that had become the constant companion of the men he tried to save.

The fear that dragged at his boots like mud.

If Dooku wanted to create his own separate state,  _ let  _ him.

_ But that's not what's happening. He's sworn publicly to destroy the Senate and take over. _

_And Satine, a Sith in charge... I don't care how democratic the Separatist parliament looks now. They're already not in charge of what happens over there. Dooku and Grievous don't answer to them._

_I'm not even sure they know how much power the Trade Federation and Commerce Guilds and the rest have in their own midst._

The idealist senators who'd broken away had wanted to escape corruption.

Maybe they hadn't checked to see who was piloting the life raft.

It was a nightmare he just wanted to lie down and escape from. His wrists throbbed, though they shouldn't.

One of many nightmares he wanted to escape.

Maybe he'd get lucky, and one of these days he'd miss one of the blaster bolts headed his way.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote that Satine's fingernails were digging into her throne's arms when Obi-Wan showed the holo of the Mando. If you watch her hands in that scene, they actually scratch at the arms. Anyway. Trivia. I've spent far more time on the Satine episodes, and this one especially, than anyone has any business doing. Force take it, I've gone through it frame by frame. There is the strange case of the Disappearing Guardsman...


End file.
